this is just my own little unscientific inconsequential post-script

I think I'm getting sick. You know that feeling?

Last night, neither I nor my CPA (close personal associate, not certified public accountant) could sleep. Out of seemingly nowhere, he sat up in bed like an actor does in a movie after the character has an alarming dream and began, "If you were on a desert island..."

Among the things to decide were: what basic meal you would choose for the duration of my stay, what album you'd bring, and who you would get a yearly phone call to. The rest I can't really remember.

Anyway, I said tempeh and avocado sandwiches on whole wheat bread, Blonde on Blonde, and Cat (he chose chicken fried rice, Graceland, and one of his uncles). I don't consider Blonde on Blonde my favourite album of all time (in fact, I'm not entirely sure it would even be my favourite Dylan album or even on my top ten albums of all time), but I think it would be good desert-island music. Probably. Tempeh-avocado-sandwiches and Cat, on the other hand, are definitely two of my favourites of all time. There are other foods and people I love, of course, but nothing satisfies me like a tempeh avocado sandwich, or a more-than-an-hour-long phonecall with Cat.

The reason why I'm writing this seemingly inconsequential post is because I'm sick of studying for my final, even though said studying mainly consists of reading comic books, an otherwise enjoyable pursuit. I'm sorry for being such a slacker.

I am really looking forward to summer. Nightly, I dream of bicycle rides and evening walks and cotton dresses.

grand pianos crash together

For one reason or another, I just cannot get started on an essay today. It's totally beautiful outside and the perfect weather for a bicycle ride. But...the essay isn't gonna write itself, and it's on a book I like, so I should really just hop to it. After this...obviously.

I'm drinking instant coffee with cinnamon and brown sugar and it's pretty stellar, surprisingly. I'm insanely broke right now, so I cooked up a huge amount of beans in tomato sauce, which I will be eating with rice for the next...long time.

Lately I haven't been into straightening my hair or shaving my armpits. Two new habits I hope I can keep up. But I've been feeling as though I'm in highschool again...Monster Days. I know I'm not a monster but a human being, but it can be hard to believe sometimes. York girls all seem to have inexplicably long, shiny, perfectly styled hair and flawless clothes. I mean, it's not a style I aspire to, but none of these women look remotely awkward...their pants aren't baggy at the knees, or too long...they don't look uncomfortable in what they're wearing. Their (incredible expensive) shoes don't have holes or salt stains (how is that possible?!) and they all carry these huge-yet-unridiculous bags.

Meanwhile I'm wearing over-washed jeans that are way too baggy at the ankles and knees and shirts I've had since highschool with my frizzy hair tucked into a hat. But I speak a lot in class, so maybe they think I'm really confident and totally down with looking the way I do. Someday I will be!

Okay, for real, I'm going to start this essay so I can go for a bike ride tonight.

SIDENOTE: If you were wondering, Hallmark Day came and went with a trip to No Frills, a homemade meal, and an episode of Carl Sagan's Cosmos. So pretty much a typical night for my Close Personal Associate and me.

no one looks too surprised

I'm drinking green tea and listening to Billy Bragg, taking a break from this really good book my co-worker lent me. It's a conversation between Jacques Derrida and Mustafa Cherif and it's amazing. About Islam and the West, how there's no one Islam, how there's no one West, and how everyone needs to chill the fuck out about attacking religion. Haha. Oversimplified. It's a very graceful consideration of many important things. Not one-sided or anything at all, if that's how I'm making it sound.

Tired as hell. School is lots of reading. I might take a highschool chemistry class next year at night...the idea of doing a highschool course makes me nervous, but I think I might need chem 20 in order to do any programs of interest to me apres l'anglais degree. I'm so excited!

My friend Steph sent me a beautiful parcel with gifts from her and Maja. I may have mentioned this in my last quasi-drunken post. When I grow up, I want a submarine-themed Jacques Cousteau bathroom. And a pink office. Yeah, pink. Cotton candy-like. With ornate white frames with Steph's art in them.

(Oh and...by "office", I mean my own room, if I share a bedroom with someone. I think it's important to have your own space.)

Tonight CB and I supped on the finest stirfry: banana peppers, broccoli, carrots, tempeh, and red bell peppers in a thick homemade peanut sauce over brown basmati rice. I would like to be able to dedicate lots of time to every meal someday. Not just some pb & j every lunch, but something with actual vegetables and stuff. Don't get me wrong...I love the pb & j. But still.

YEAH I know I talk about food a lot, and "when I grow up". Sorry.

Things are good in the present too. I love everyone around me and work and even school is developing a faint spring-y glow when I hear sparrows chirping in the reed-thin young trees at York.

i am finally seeing

Tonight at the Red Room, Paul and Emma and Jessica and I drank so much sangria and then they started playing "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight" by the Postal Service. And everyone in the pub cheered so loud when Ben Gibbard sung "Smeeeaaaared black ink". Unbelievable. I used to listen to that song so much when I was 16, lying in my hammock, brittle hair snaking out from me. You know.

I also got a parcel from Steph today with the most beautiful things in it, including a silkscreen she named after me and a pair of earrings Maja made for me. It almost hurts (it does hurt) how wonderful most people are.

School is going fine, if you were wondering. I'm getting all As and A+s. After I finish this degree next year, I will do something with less theory and more practice. Like putting needles into people or listening to them talk about their problems...it depends on which program jumps to accept me first. And whether or not I'm a total flake.

Oh and...I called Ernest Hemmingway a "pretentious misogynistic blowhard" in my tutorial and my T.A., the ever-plaid-shirted Dave, laughed uncomfortably. It was awesome. I'm glad I got that off my chest.